


Things to Remember Me By

by TerezFox8989



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is sentimental, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Souvenirs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerezFox8989/pseuds/TerezFox8989
Summary: Aziraphale begins question some things Crowley owns around the cottage and learns Crowley can be quite sentimental.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

Things to Remember Me By

Aziraphale stands, lips perused and eyebrows creased concentration, trying desperately to place where he’s seen the vase that sits upon their counter. It had shown up rather suddenly a few days ago, first empty, now filled to the brim with freshly cut flowers it’s pulled his attention entirely. He hasn’t asked Crowley about it yet, trying to solve the puzzle on his own, but the vase is of little help. Truthfully, he thinks it may be even mocking him, sitting silently in their kitchen and withholding all its secrets.

He’s so transfixed he doesn’t hear the back door open, but does smell the freshly cut grass and dirt as Crowley crosses the threshold into the cottage, “Crowley? Dear, could you come here?” He calls out eyes still locked forward, hoping for a moment of inspiration before Crowley arrives.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Where did this come from,” Aziraphale asks somewhat distractedly, still unable to look away.

The worry falls, replaced with confusion. “The vase?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Crowley shrugs noncommittally, “It’s just a vase.”

Aziraphale huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yes I’m well aware.’’ He’s a little snippy, growing more irritated as the vase continues to hold its victory. “That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“I just picked it up,’’ Crowley shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You don’t like it?’’

“I didn’t say that, it’s just it seems familiar—”

Another noncommittal shrug, ”Sure loads of people have the same thing.”

“Yes I suppose that’s fair,” still looking over the vase he’s not fully convinced, he knows he’s seen it before.

“Now how about a spot of lunch,” Crowley grins mischievously, finally breaking the spell the vase had cast with the promise of food.

The vase still nags, even days later and just when he manages to almost brush it off, something new catches his attention at dinner. 

”What?’’ Crowley asks, leaning slightly over the table, eyebrow quirked over dark sunglasses. “Something wrong with the napkin?’’

Aziraphale still stares, eyes locked on the place setting, fingers gently skimming along the gold band around the napkin. ”This looks like something we have at home,’’ his gaze shifting up to Crowley inquisitively, the blank looks he receives in return urges him to further explain. ”You have a bowl or a-a platter, over by the front door,’’ he says gesturing an approximate size on the table. He knows he’s rambling now as Crowley’s mouth falls open slightly and the other eyebrow starts to climb to join its partner, watching the display with a slight unease. ”There’s a gold band like this, in there, it’s the exact same one I’m sure,’’ he trails off gaze drawn back to the napkin like a sirens call.

‘’How do you know what’s in there?” Crowley asks slowly, looking slightly like a deer in headlights.

”Oh, um, well,” Aziraphale starts, a little fidgety before looking up. “I know how you are about the clutter, so I’m trying to be mindful of my own things and it’s just, I was curious you see. I know I have quite a lot of things and I wanted to know what things you’ve found important enough to keep.” 

Crowley sits, still frozen, and Aziraphale is fairly sure he’s stopped breathing.

“I’m terribly sorry my dear,” Aziraphale continues in a rush, fairly sure he’s overstepped a boundary. “I shouldn’t have gone looking through your things.”

“No, it’s...it’s alright,” Crowley moves to comfort, while physically curling back into his own chair. “ ‘s my fault really,” he chokes out through a grimace sneering down at the table. “It’s getting worse,” he mermers more to himself before his gaze shoots up. “Can we talk about it at home?’’

Aziraphale watches the display in a state of confusion, eyebrows drawn tight. ”I should hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Naw,” Crowley jumps upward in the chair snatching his wine glass off the table, “just embarrassing really.” Then downs the whole glass.

Crowley spills everything, hours later, sloshed off wine and rambling, though Aziraphale manages to catch the drift. 

It all started with an oyster shell.

”Didn’t even think about,’’ Crowley drawls shaking the bottle of wine. ”Just kinda happened, and then-and then all down hill from there.’’ Another quick gulp of liquor and he almost misses the soft smile Aziraphale gives in response. “Don’t-don’t do that!’’

Aziraphale can’t help but chuckle at the reprimanding he receives, watching cautiously as Crowley sways about the living room. “You wanted to be closer,” he offers tenderly.

Crowley shakes his head violently, lips pursed like he’s swallowed something sour. ”Don’t—’’

”There’s nothing wrong with that.’’ Truthfully he finds it all quite endearing that Crowley has been collecting trinkets of their time together, souvenirs kept safe over the years, never sure when they would see each other again. Now that their relationship has shifted they’re hardly going hours apart, throwing Crowleys’ little habit into overdrive, collecting far more things in the recent months than he has over decades. 

”Yack’’ Crowley gags then sneers, ”’m soft.’’

”You are wily and conniving—‘’

“Oh, don’t patronize me!” Crowley snarls, teetering dangerously as he waves the bottle, almost knocking into a nearby bookcase.

”Alright I think that’s quite enough,’’ Azriaphale calls, standing from the chair where he’s been watching Crowley flail about the room, he moves to collect the demon in his arms trying to calm his frantic nerves.

”Don’t, don’t make—it’s nothing,’’ Crowley turns to him, eyes large and the pleading, its a moment of clarity, as he begs Aziraphale drop the conversation before his lids begin to droop, heavy with alcohol.

”Of course dear,’’ Aziraphale smiles tenderly, swallowing back the questions he wishes to ask. Wanting to know every item Crowley has taken, what he’s deemed worthy to represent their time together, what items he’s latched on to in lieu of his presence; but now is not the time. ”Let’s get you to bed.’’

Crowley smiles drunkenly, the tension leaving his body clearly pleased to end the conversation.

Sleep manages to find Crowley quickly, limbs askew and body pressed close, Aziraphale still doesn’t see the appeal but can’t deny it’s one of his favorite rituals. The silence of the night washes over them, a bedside lamp glows softly, while Crowleys rhythmic breathing and pages turning keep the time. It’s a moment he would never trade to pass the night sleeping, instead he sits snuggled warm and soft in bed with book and demon, a plan begins to form.

Morning comes soon enough, dark clouds overhead and rain splashing against the widows, a dreary setting that does nothing to dappen the giddy excitement Aziraphale feels putting his plan into action.

“Here,’’ the movement is awkward and forced as he all but shoves the tartan box in Crowley’s direction. That hadn’t been quite the plan but he figures it serves the purpose, no matter how ungracefully executed.

“What’s this?’’ the words fall skeptically as long fingers cradle the box protectively, wondering briefly if it may be empty with how light it is, yellow eyes staring up inquisitively.

A swirl of nerves settle unexpectedly now that Crowley holds the gift ”Just um, something I thought might help.’’

Crowley sighs shoulders dropping and rolls his eyes “I told you not to make this into anything—”

”I haven’t,’’ Aziraphale cuts off before smiling softly. “And you’ve gotten me so many lovely things over the years, I just, I thought this would help.’’

Crowley glares slightly, he hates to be dotted on, well he hates to admit it. He settles the box down on his lap with a small grumble of defeat lifting the lid with a slight irritation, Aziraphale watches breath lodged in his throat when Crowley freezes. ”It’s one of mine,’’ he offers helpfully as Crowley stares wide eyed and unblinking down at the lone white feather. The silence seems to stretch on indefinitely, the flutter of nerves turning to a full blown stomachache when Crowley fails to respond. “I’m sorry. Oh dear maybe—” in a flurry of movement Crowley all but hurls himself off the couch, latching on tightly to Aziraphales’ stunned form.

“Thanksss,’’ the word is whispered against his neck, soft and with a slight hiss.

The nerves vanish in an instant, as he wraps Crowley tightly in his arms, “of course dear, you’ll always have me.’’


	2. The Vase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wants to know more about the vase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter no one asked for, but I had to write, lol. Thanks so much for all the reviews, kudos and bookmarks, hope you all like this chapter too.

“That’s what you want to know about?” Crowley asks with a wine stained frown, sitting up slightly on the couch.

“Yes?” Aziraphale responds hesitantly, sounding more like a question than an answer seated across the room in a chair, book currently forgotten. 

“Not the lectern that sits in the hall,” Crowley flails he arm back in the direction of the item in question like it’s some great offense, almost spilling the wine.

Aziraphale’s lips purse slightly, “I already know where that’s from, why would I ask about that?” Absolutely baffled Crowley would even bring it up. He wasn’t so vain to think every item Crowley owned had something to do with him and really he had no intentions of pestering the demon for the full stories on where he gotten each trinket, despite how badly he wanted to. For the time being he had taken to watching instead, noticing when Crowley pockets things and when he doesn’t. Ironically not taking things is starting to fester the curiosity more, but the moment seems personal to Crowley and no matter how badly he wants to pick it all apart, he knows it’s not something Crowley is particularly proud of; so for now it’s the vase that screams the loudest for attention. “Probably just took it because you outsmarted some Nazis. A pat on the back.” He says with a slightly begrudging smirk, it certainly wasn’t one of his proudest moments, but Crowley had been absolutely spectacular.

Crowley’s whole face falls in an instant, outrage replaced with confusion. “That’s why you think I took it?”

“It’s not?” The question falls skeptically but now he’s quite interested, eyes drifting over to the statue. 

Crowley quickly realizes his mistake, frowning slightly as his eyes go wide. “So the vase-“

“No, no,” Aziraphale whips around as he shakes his head slightly, now intrigued. “What about the lectern?” Any sort of self control gone, Crowley’s fault entirely, now he wants that story as well.

“You already asked about the vase,” Crowley shoots back now in a panic. “And it’s from Toni’s.” He spills out the name of the restaurant in a rush when he can see Aziraphale is about to argue.

Aziraphale blinks, trying to keep track of the conversation, he hadn’t been expecting Crowley to share the information so quickly. “Toni’s, what-”

“You kissed me, first time in public,” Crowley offers up helpfully, continuing when it’s clear Aziraphale still hasn’t quite placed the vase, desperate to keep them on track. “And the couple behind us-”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale cuts off, lighting up as the memories follow through, frown settling in just as quickly after. “And that horrible lady shouting about her kids seeing us.”

He had noticed the couple behind them, wrapped up in each other, lost in their own world and had been overcome with feelings of love at catching this public display of affection. Crowley had been entirely oblivious, or so he had thought, occasionally glancing at his watch, muttering to himself as they stood in line. He had grabbed at his hand, pulling his attention and catching him entirely off guard when he’d pressed their lips together. It had only been a few lingering seconds, a chaste brief kiss, but apparently far too long for the woman who stood off to the side.

She had shriked making sure to be heard over the chatter, yelling about indecency and corruption of children demanding everyone get a good look.

“Well I hardly think that’s necessary,” Aziraphale had snapped at the woman, pulling back with a frown, fingers still intertwined with Crowley’s, and good mood gone. “And teaching your children such behaviors-,” 

“I shouldn’t be subjected to that, to do that in public-” she spat as if even talking to him was a sin.

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes, holding up a hand to stop Crowley from intervening who had tensed at his side. “Perhaps we should see what the police have to say,” he smiled rather smugly much to the confusion of the lady and everyone else present, until the front door opened and in walked two cops.

Truthfully he hadn’t expected the woman to begin shouting now at the officers, making an even bigger spectacle, but he had been anticipating the hiss in his ear. 

“Angel,” Crowley had drawled, breath hot against his ear.

“Oh it’s fine.”

“You’re the one who said-“

“It hardly counts,’’ Aziraphale waived off, watching the meltdown. “And she was dreadful.” 

Crowley grunted back in response neither agreement or disagreement but Aziraphale could tell he’s having a hard time keeping the smirk off his face as he to turned to watch the woman spiral out.

“Parking tickets!!” The woman’s shrill voice cut through the space again in outrage and confusion as she began to be lead out of the restaurant. 

Crowley lost the battle to swallow the chuckle as he shook his head “Angel.”

Aziraphale grimaced watching the wild display, “I didn’t want her dinning with us, could you imagine?” 

Crowley snorted, turning from the show, but was certain to waive at the woman with their clasped hands, before pulling Aziraphale after him as he stalked past the group of would be diners all waiting for a table.

“Anthony Crowley,” he’d said in way of introduction, tapping the desk to get the mans attention. “Completely forgot we do have a reservation, 8:3-“ he’d started only to glance down at his watch. “—8:45 and I’m sure a table’s just opened up.” Then he’d turned teasing smile at his lips, lookin quite pleased with himself, “Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Azriaphale was well aware that had been entirely his fault, he had pulled at a thread and Crowley had quickly latched on, edger to join in on the fun. Things had started to spiral slightly when Crowley had insisted they check again on the special another miracle used with a wave of his hand and snap had Aziraphale regretting his own earlier stunts.

Most importantly though there hadn’t been a vase on the table, Crowley had reached out across the space offering reassurance that their little miracles weren’t going to cause the forces of good and evil to desend upon them. No vase as Crowley had lead them after the host and nothing that had caught his eye as they had waited in line, no matter how often he replayed the night. 

“Where was it?” He asks still desperately trying to piece it all together.

“Behind you,” Crowley offers simply with a small smirk no doubt pleased Aziraphale hadn’t been able to fully place it. He sands suddenly from the couch, swaying slightly as he moves forward, “before you stole a kiss—

“Stole-” Aziraphale stutters out distracted for a moment watching as Crowley stalks forward.

“I was just standing there-“

“Muttering to yourself-“

“Make us wait in line then you go and use a miracle,” Crowley teases accusingly, smirk pulling at his lips as he advances, closing the space between them.

“I know what you’re doing Crowley,” Aziraphale warns breathlessly, entranced by every step and sway of hips, gaze traveling upward to settle loving on the pair of golden eyes locked on unblinkingly.

“Is it working?” Crowley asks, sinful grin stretched across his face well aware he’s being watched.

“You are quite the temptation,” for now the story of the lectern will go untold, Crowley is rather successful in his distraction. 

A story for another day.


End file.
